


A Congregation of One

by Endangered_Slug



Series: Rumbelle Showdown 2014 [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Rumbelle Showdown 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-30
Updated: 2014-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-11 02:13:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2049471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rumplestiltskin spends an uncomfortable five minutes.</p><p>Round 3 entry for Rumbelle Showdown 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Congregation of One

**Author's Note:**

> My prompts were : Kissing under moonlight, Reflection, Cult of beauty.

Rumpelstiltskin glanced up from his spinning wheel at the sound of the scraping of wood against wood. His maid was dragging his heavy chair over from the table to the curio cabinet, her skirts hiked up and tied to prevent them from getting twisted with her legs as she worked the chair left then right then forward inch by ear-scraping inch. He didn't make a move to help her, preferring to watch the mighty struggle of woman vs chair. It was amusing and a damn better sight than his wheel. Maybe he'll summon up a step stool when she finally gets it into position — the look on her face would be just the right mix of irritation and amusement to make the magic worthwhile. Smiling in anticipation, he gave the wheel another slow turn then lifted his hand to summon the stool when her skirt lifted another inch or so and he paused mid-cast. He thought he saw —

 

There was a freckle on the back of her knee.

 

The spinning wheel came to a halt as he sat stunned by this new detail. He tried to get another glimpse of it but, to his consternation, it seems the freckle was playing hide and seek with him. She climbed the chair and was attacking his curiosities with her rag before he realized he's been staring as his... Belle.

 

The freckle peeked out whenever she reached up and Rumpelstiltskin silently thanked whichever god saw fit to create Belle so tiny because it seemed everything was just out of reach.

 

He remembered well the first time he ever had chocolate. Born into poverty, sweets were a rare treat, mostly saved up for all year 'round and then gifted to his son for birthdays. But, once he became the Dark One, sweets and treats and _other_ delights were within his greedy grasp and he indulged often. His first taste of chocolate melted upon his tongue, spreading over his taste buds and before he knew what he was about he had gobbled up the entire shop's worth of stock. He'd paid the seller well and made sure to become a regular visitor until he found something else to gorge upon. But that first exquisite taste stayed with him for centuries.

 

Belle's freckle, he noticed, was the same rich shade of brown as his first bite of chocolate and Rumpelstiltskin's mouth watered in remembrance. Something inside him told him that, if he were to lick that spot on the back of her dainty knee it would taste even better, but he shoved it aside only for it to return like a boomerang and bringing more unwanted thoughts with it. If Belle had a freckle on the back of her knee were there any more hidden upon her person? Would chocolate ever taste as delicious again?

 

She was on the last shelf now, whipping her dusting rag around like a fly swatter — spreading the dust more than she was clearing it. Her reflection in the glass front of the cabinet showed that her mind was not on her chores. _She thinks a lo_ t, he noted. A desirable trait in a companion but not for a maid. Maybe he should have her do it again just to teach her a lesson. That he would be able to watch her work was beside the point. Naturally he wanted her to do a capable job or else why even have her here in the first place.

 

Why indeed?

 

He sat up straighter on his stool. Maybe instead of cleaning he would task her with making wine. The image of Belle, smiling into the sun, stomping and dancing in a barrel of grapes with her skirts tied up over her knees again and her skin stained purple from the bursting, ripe grapes and dripping with juice sprung unbidden to his mind. He rather thought that the taste of grape pulp and chocolate would be a wonderful delicacy. He caught his breath for a moment unable to recover from that vision, his taste buds already tingling with want. He didn't know if he should dismiss the notion as silly or immediately find a vineyard and deal for it.

 

His fingers twitched.

 

He realized that he had gone about this all wrong. Belle should never have been reduced to menial labor or shut up inside his dusty castle. He should have set her up in some mountain temple with a throng of worshippers spending their days venerating her beauty and... and her kindness. She would be glorious under the moonlight while a chosen postulant kissed each and every spot that made her quiver. Another uninvited vision came to him, this time of himself as the supplicant licking his way up Belle's moonbathed body, causing him to lose his breath.

 

His hand fell to his lap with a plop.

 

He gave his head a slight shake to snap himself out of that thread of thought. It was dangerous even for him. He had no patience for setting up religions and no reason for _other_ pursuits. He had a boy to find and a promise to keep. _Belle has no place in my plans,_ he thought glumly. She would hate it anyway. _And no one in their right mind would want me_.

 

Just then Belle hopped down from the chair and he caught another glimpse of the freckle. She turned around and with a swirl, loosened the knot letting the skirts swirl back down covering her calves and once more hiding the tantalizing freckle from his view. Rumpelstiltskin felt a very unreasonable amount of disappointment. He gathered his will from where it retreated into his toes and straighted up. It wouldn't do to be caught mooning over the help like a love-sick—

 

Love-sick.

 

Love.

 

Sick.

 

A feeling of dread took root inside him as a squadron of butterflies began to dive bomb his spleen and realization hit him with the full force of a brick to the head. He let himself fall in love. With _Belle_.

 

“Are you okay?” she asked, suddenly in his view, her forehead wrinkled with worry.

 

Startled and embarrassed to have been caught staring and sure his emotions were easily read on his scaly face, he turned back to his wheel and gave it spin, too fast to be productive.

 

“I'm fine,” he said quickly. “Just reflecting. Plotting and scheming terrible things to do to unsuspecting, flighty maids.” He smiled nervously, putting all his concentration onto his golden thread. There was more truth to that statement than he'd like her to believe and even he didn't want to deal with the fall out of her inevitable rejection.

 

Stubborn creature, she came around to get a good look at his face, bending slightly to peer at him from between the spokes. He glanced down to see if that freckle was in view again, but, no, it was hidden indefinitely. Unwillingly he looked at her and found himself caught in her gaze.

 

She said nothing, studying his face in search of... something. When she didn't find it her shoulders sagged a bit and she twisted the dust rag in her hands. “W-would you like some tea?” she asked.

 

Happy for a way out, he nodded quickly, his curls fluttering about his face. “That would be lovely.”

 

Belle walked past him toward the kitchens but he grasped her pinkie with the tips of two fingers before she walked out of reach. He noted that she didn't even flinch at his touch. The centimeter of skin he held was soft against his rough fingers and it took every ounce of self-control to keep from throwing himself at her feet. He searched for something to say, some reason for the detainment. “Perhaps we could have a bit of chocolate? I find I have a slight craving today.”

 

Her eyes lit up and she smiled down at him. “Of course! That sounds perfect.”

 

Rumpelstiltskin breathlessly watched her leave — his fingers still tingling from contact — knowing that, no matter what, there was at least one person to worship Belle in this world. A faithful congregation of one. “Perfect,” he whispered to her retreating shadow.

 

Rumpelstiltskin glanced down at his basket of straw and saw that it was getting low. Tomorrow, or maybe the next day, he would send her to town to get a fresh supply. And let her go. After all, there was no place in his plans for someone like Belle.

 

 

 

 


End file.
